The sight of two sail in the horizon one evening prepared us for seeing them in harbour the next day. But conceive our indignation when the captain told us that the other dirty, dingy, ill-looking, black vessel was no other than our darling La Luna. To be sure she had not lost her elegant shape, but in every other respect she was so altered not one of us knew her. The little girls sat down and cried like fishes (if they do cry), and Madame helped to swell the stream by a copious flow of tears; while the indignation of the elder girls vented itself in anathemas and threats against the pirates, that showed they had profited pretty considerably by Smart's conversation and opinions. We were now obliged to take to our burrows, and watched, with immense wrath and disgust, the debarkation of the female pirates from the pretty cabins and berths of our La Luna.
In appearance and manners they matched the men, but we agreed amongst ourselves, tall and fierce as they looked, we were not afraid of them, and had no objection to "settle them," as Smart called it. There were fifteen women and about eleven children, while the pirates themselves now amounted to forty-five. Fearful odds against us. Nevertheless, the courage and determination of the army rose higher and higher. They had only just time to get themselves into their houses and huts, and the ships into winter quarters; ere the bad weather commenced. How they spent their time on the island we never enquired. It was enough that we were very happy within her friendly bosom, indulging in all sorts of merriment and fun, knowing they were a good way off, close prisoners like ourselves. And while in the pretty, elegant, and spacious drawing-room once before mentioned, so replete with luxury, beauty, and every comfort, mourners still sat and thought of and wept for the long-lost, the mysteriously-doomed members of that once happy family; each kind face bearing the traces of the anxious fear and thoughts months but added to and time could not heal: how looked the little party in the coral caverns of the Pacific? We will look at them once more, ere we take our leave of them for good. Lying on a rude grass couch is an elderly lady, her hair snow-white, and covered with a cambric handkerchief to serve as a cap; she is reading. Not far from her are two servants, in long blue rough dresses; they seem preparing a meal. On the other side of them is seated, on a rude bench, a weather-beaten white-haired man; a pretty graceful girl of twelve is watching him concocting a pair of shoes, and as they are for herself, she diligently assists. A little sparkling bright face peeps behind, and mischievously adorns the captain's head with Hargrave's sad remains of a cap, which she always carefully puts aside when doing anything likely to hurt it. Not far from them is the fine, tall, athletic frame of the keeper, both boys intently watching him making fishing lines, they dressed in loose white shirts, open in front, and full white trousers; the elder boy imitating the art of making lines, the little one exciting his parrot to abstract Smart's apparatus, as fast as he puts one thing down after another, which leads to sundry threats on Smart's part that he will "settle" both young Master and parrot if they are not quiet. As this "settling" never takes place, of course the delinquents go on, even to abstracting all the treasures out of Smart's pockets. But you can see by Smart's eye a day of reckoning is coming for those two. There are no less than nine parrots making more or less noise in the cavern, who have each a different owner, and whose voices they distinguish with wonderful sagacity, and hop, crawl, and climb in their quaint manner whenever they are called.
Two little, quiet, serious-looking monkeys are busily watching the preparations for dinner, appropriating what they can to themselves in so secret and sly a manner that Hargrave is totally ignorant of the real thieves, and accuses Jenny wrathfully of misplacing her things. Jenny laughs and shows her pretty white teeth, enjoying the joke as much as we do.
Three fine, tall, becoming girls, each above the middle size, one fair and bright-looking as the sun, another graceful as the fawn with eyes and mouth the perfection of sweet gentle beauty, and the last a sort of female Smart, strong as a young elephant, with mouth like rosebuds, teeth like almonds, and eyes so bright in their dark beauty you could hardly gaze into them; such were the dear girls, a sight, as the captain said, such as he only thought to see in heaven. They are grouped together over two weaving machines, and while one is employed removing the broken threads that invariably occur in our clumsy machines, the other two throw the shuttle to and fro. Not with much diligence though for that ever-mischievous Gatty throws one impediment after another in their way, so that I foresee the two sisters will suddenly set upon her, and there will be a regular scuffle.
And who is that lying her full length on the ground, the flushed cheek resting on one hand, the violet eyes closed, and the knitted stocking that requires finishing that day has fallen from the little listless hand? Oh Lilly, Lilly, idle Lilly, here are you soundly sleeping, and there is your parrot conceitedly thinking he can do the work of his lazy little mistress, and in another minute it will be all destroyed. Wake up, little sleeper, wake up, and collect those long curls floating like a raven curtain about you. Think what Madame will say if she catches but a glimpse of you. A little apart from all stands one tall figure, taller than all the rest, her dark hair folded back from her forehead, her dark eyes watching each beloved group, while she spins unceasingly. Close at her feet sits her shadow, clothed in the same sort of long white dress, with the open sleeves disclosing the prettiest ivory arms in the world. Short curling hair of a rich dark colour hangs round the white neck and broad forehead of the sitter, and what are those little pink and white fingers doing? Must I tell? A faithful historian must recite plain facts, and, therefore, provided the secret goes no further, I will allow she was cleaning pistols! And, according to Smart's opinion, "she did 'em a sight better than many a man he had had under him."
Now and then those clear dark eyes look up, and she says, "Now, June, stop that everlasting wheel or I shall have you fainting with fatigue."
Mother.—"Take my place then."
Schillie.—"Good lack, spinning is such dull work. Let me finish my pistols first."
And of course dinner is announced ere the pistols are pronounced complete. A solemn grace said by the dear captain, whose "God be thanked" comes slowly from the lips as if the heart was with it. Then a merry dinner, Smart, and the maidens waiting on us, for nothing will persuade Smart to sit down with us, and Jenny keeps him company, and Hargrave, with a little hauteur condescends to do the same. All sorts of pranks go on between Smart and the boys during dinner. Felix trying to upset his solemn gravity, while Oscar sends him with preserved ginger to Schillie's duck, roasted potatoes to Madame's tapioca pudding, whereby he gets very shamefaced, as Schillie, with blunt sincerity, points out his mistake. Then behind us he shakes his fist at the boys, while they invent fresh nonsense to tease him. In the meantime the dispute runs hot and high between the little girls as to who is to sit next to their beloved captain, Gatty and Serena making believe that they will assert their rights as Signori Priori, and take the coveted seats.
However dinner is over, and we all adjourned to the lowest cavern while the servants eat theirs. Then we sing songs and tell stories.
Felix.—"Cousin Schillie, you promised to tell us the story of the jack-daws if we behaved well and obeyed our general."
Schillie.—"Pooh! pooh! you have heard it a hundred times, boy."
Felix.—"But the captain has not."
"I should like to hear it very much," said he.
Mother.—"Then, Schillie, you will have to tell it again for the hundred and first time, and you, captain, must not think that you are to hear a very wonderful story, but, as it is the only one she was ever known to tell, we are obliged to make her repeat it again and again. If she would kindly tell us a fresh one we should be obliged, but, as she won't, we will prepare ourselves to listen once more to the tale of
THE JACK-DAWS.
Once upon a time (this is too bad of you June) there stood an old church in the middle of a village (making me tell this old story), and this church had a very fine old tower (I wish you up in it now), and in this tower lived a fine pair of jack-daws (fine company for you). Well! you must know these jack-daws had a large family of greedy young children (just like you). Now there lived in the village, (besides many other brats) two boys, a big boy and a little boy. The big boy was a great big stout hulking fellow, with a snubby nose and green eyes; and the little fellow was a nice active chap, about the size of Tom Thumb, quick and sharp as a needle. So one day these two boys sat in the church-yard, and watched the jack-daws as they flew hither and thither and everywhere. Says the little fellow, 'Them jack-daws must have a nest up there.' Says the big chap, 'No doubt, and I would like to have the young ones,' (mind children it's a wicked thing taking birds from their nests; look at all of you away from your nests; go on, cousin, go on, the captain is quite impatient). Well! so they agreed they would climb up the old church tower, and get the young ones, which accordingly they did. Now you must know the old jack-daws, being very knowing, had built their nest so that it was outside the tower, just out of their reach, and there they could see almost within grasp seven little jack-daws, all with their mouths wide open, waiting for their father to pop in a delicious fat worm! ('Oh, cousin, how nasty,' says Winny). So the two boys were much puzzled, but at last the big one takes hold of a plank, and, putting it out of the little window, 'Now,' says he, 'go you and sit at that end and I will push the plank out of the window, and you will just be able to reach the nest.' 'Very well,' says the little fellow, 'but mind you sit at the other end, lest the plank tilts up with me, and I go down.' 'All right,' says the big fellow, and away goes the little boy. 'I have got them all seven,' says he, 'and very fine ones they are.' 'Very well', says the big boy, 'mind four are mine, and three are yours.' 'No such thing,' says the little one, 'I underwent the danger, so I'll have the four, and you shall have the three.' 'No you shall not,' says big bully. 'Yes I will,' says the little sturdy fellow. 'I will let you down if you don't give me the four,' says the big rascal. 'Let away,' says the small boy, 'I won't give them up.' So the young villain let go the plank, and away went the little fellow, holding stoutly on by his little birds. Well the seven jack-daws spread their wings and fluttered, and the wind being high, it filled a great stout pinafore that he had on, so that between the two, he was borne safely to the ground, when, looking up at the window, out of which the big bully was watching his flight, he shouted out, 'Now you shall have none of them.'
